TTS: Interludes of Life: The Projext

21:16p.m., Friday, 22 May 2015

My latest project seems to be coming together promisingly. I've taken up a universal vow of silence to keep unmanifested versions of my realities (aka my dormant, procrastinated ideas and projects) to myself until they are materialised, otherwise if I don't, I've noticed I have a habit of telling anyone and everyone about what I'm planning or working on and in the process, trick myself into feeling I've completed them already. But this one's got me extremely excited; I want to be able to document my journey, so I'll simply refer to it as Project X. It's nothing original, but for the basic purpose of having a 'pseudonym' for it, it'll do for now. Or what about NEXT? Yes; let's call it Project NEXT, rather. I'm going to have to tread lightly with this one since I don't want to intentionally, or even unintentionally reveal too much; I'm giving closed transparency a shot here... Bare with me.

I'm very excited about Project NEXT! I've spent so much time planning, and re-planning, and re-re-planning (over a decade to be exact... ridiculous, I know), that I feel it's about time I just revealed whatever it is I've been crafting. But you know with perfectionists -- things never seem good enough. I've realised it doesn't have to be good though; it just needs to be done. (This will take more than a day to internalise and accept. It's a lot to take in, but not to worry -- I'm still breathing.) That's my new motto, by the way, courtesy of Eat Pray Love's literary sensation and one of my human obsessions, Elizabeth Gilbert.

I think you'll be glad to know I've sent my mental obsessive companion on an untimed vacation for this one, so while the the critical cat's away, the creative, menacing mice will play. I feel I have so much leg room to work with, I'm not sure I quite know where to begin. The starting point is usually the best place, they say: Now to actually find it...

Jo'burg City: My Once Shimmering Mirage

12:37p.m., Sunday, 24 May 2015

Who needs picture-perfect when you have the perfect picture?

I had just taken a photograph of my sister who had then become a new mom when that statement occurred to me. She'd been standing about a few minutes by the large scale window in our dining room which overlooks Ponte City and Ellis Park Stadium. She simply stood there, looking out as though in deep thought, pondering her life and her next big move. Upon noticing her, I rushed off for the camera and silently captured her in time. The curtains were spread wide open with central east and south east Jo'burg in full view behind her, forming a captivating and distinct backdrop; the weather almost sympathetic with her mood. She noticed me standing there after my first few shots and I asked her to remain as she was. She acquiesced, and I continued to capture her. What beautiful pictures that moment made for. And how beautifully they concealed one of our many struggles of living here at the time. That's what a photograph in the city is supposed to do; it serves as a soughtafter mirage.

The slums of Jo'burg photograph beautifully, and so do the people. The light, the colours, the daily drama -- they tell some intricately gripping and moving stories. But the reality of living here is a far cry from glamorous.

Struggle knows no race here, and people will rest heads just about anywhere they can afford to. It's quite the norm to have up to five families of five crammed in two- and three-bedroom apartments with living areas and even bedrooms subdivided with sheets and curtains to create some form of privacy. Depending on how dire the situation, some people settle for being housed in kitchens, balconies and even bathrooms. It's not the best in accommodation, but it'll do for the time being. The upkeep of these buildings deteriorate increasingly fast as people who occupy them don't pay levies and don't understand its purpose in maintaining the upkeep of the place, which is why they don't seem bothered when it comes to filthy hallways, broken windows, stolen fire extinguishers and lifts that can remain out of service for months and years on end. They don't have a stake in the property, so it doesn't bother them. All they have to claim is that tiny roof over their heads they secure for a few hundred rands a month. Now that's their only concern. Not the streets which are rubbished with litter, or the deeply potholed roads, or the traffic lights that don't work, or the stolen fences and vandalised swings in the local park; only that few square metres of room they occupy. It's no wonder the owners and other residents are expected to pay triple and quadruple the initial amounts of levies, rates and taxes. It isn't fair, but that's the way it is.

Hearing a round of gunshots or prostitutes singing and making a raucous serve as your lullaby before you sleep, and the live band from one of the million nearby churches plays as your unsolicited alarm every Sunday morning. I guess it's better than having Sbu blaring music from his car speakers for the whole neighbourhood to hear every other day. You could call the police on him on the basis that he's disturbing the peace, but it won't work here. That behaviour only exists in the suburbs. In fact, calling the police for anything in these parts can be a game of luck or misfortune: you're lucky if they pitch -- even if they prove to be useless, or you're unlucky because they attack or rob you themselves. I don't know how many times I've seen or heard of people who've jumped or accidentally fallen to their deaths from high-rise buildings, or people who've been stabbed or shot, only to have their bodies removed many hours later or even the next day, simply because the police showed up late, or the official at the public mortuary was still asleep or off-duty. Yes -- you're working on their time here, not yours.

Let me not get started on the petty thieves, shitty franchises, road kill and crime syndicates -- it might scare off the newly relocated suburbanites.

Amidst all the chaos and drama, three things will always keep me loving this place: the bold, defined and mesmerising architectural gems; the people, who are some of the most authentic, genuine and caring individuals you'll ever know; and the fond memories I've collected during my time here. You don't have to look long and hard to realise that this place used to be for the rich and famous with its fancy façades, closed down cinemas, indoor pools, private lounges and expansive penthouses -- it used to be the 'it' place of 'it' places, and I still feel it; I still feel like an integral part of that forgotten pot of gold. I'm far too grateful just being in a place that many could only dream of, to dwell on the negatives. Although the paint has chipped and many of them remain vacant dilapidated buildings, their true grandeur and beauty have never faded. At least not to me.

Jo'burg City will always be my once shimmering mirage.

TTS: Interludes of Life -- Baby Infatuation

11:04p.m., 5 March 2015

I think I'm on a white. I've transcended my serenity and currently sit in the lap of surrender. I've done my best to control the situation in every way I can, however, I'm going to have to relinquish my role in that regard before I drive myself insane and allow this matter to consume me unnecessarily. I've surrendered, and it's the most liberating thing I can always do for myself. It's like gently untying the noose I put around my own neck with all these wishes, and thoughts, and expectations, and hopes. Before I know it, I'm exhausted and I've barely crossed the starting point. I know it isn't love. It's just infatuation.

Boy, do I love to babysit Baby Infatuation. During the times I have him over, I set up his room, refurbish his crib and make his bed. I feed him constantly throughout the day -- between 8-10 times, change his nappies, brush his hair, bathe him and occasionally buy him new clothes when he grows out of the old ones. At times, even though I'm the one doing the looking-after, he's nurturing me. I feel myself become a better person, just knowing he's there and reciprocates my attention. I don't know how many Baby Infatuations I've babysat in my life, but they don't usually stay long enough for me to see them grow. And that's alright; it's for the best. It chops down the tree of attachment before it borderlines madness. It also eliminates the need for more... more time with him, more responsibility, more titles. 'Bye bye, baby, but nanny's got to go now. Don't worry, you'll find someone else to love you.'

And on to the next one it is...

TTS: Interludes of Life

7 March 2014, 12:30AM 

Dear Editor 

I'm writing this letter to express my deepest feelings and views about The Censor.

As you may know, for years now, I've let this deceitful imposter play at the core of my emotions and reel me into a world of self-doubt and fear. He made me believe in anything and everything, but myself. I was convinced by the lies he fed me and although I knew better, I naively agreed to, although I didn't necessarily believe, what he said. 

I want to make it known that The Censor is a fraud. The worst of them all. He feeds on your vulnerabilities until there's almost nothing left. I fell prey to his trickery and scams more times than I would have liked to. I traded wonderful accomplishments for the illusory comfort of his words. I cheated myself out of true greatness on more than one occasion. All for nothing.

The best years of his life with me are over now though. I've sent him away on a lone boat. Whether he'll sink or swim isn't of my business. We have nothing more to share with one another. I can only hope that others resist the temptation to welcome him into the fortresses of their minds just as I did many years ago. He's more trouble than he's worth. 

I'm relieved now that I've let it all out, and I'm happy to be reconciled with the only entity whose opinion I should hold highly; my Higher Self. 

Thank you. 

Namaste.